


Pie Treason and Other Diversions

by aquabluejay



Category: Kamen Rider - All Media Types, Kamen Rider Zi-O, Tokusatsu
Genre: An absurd amount of Pie gets eatten, Don't Like Don't Read, Established Relationship, Food, Food Kink, Hand Feeding, It's Old Sougo but Woz is also imortal or something, M/M, No Sex, Older Man/Younger Man, Pie, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink Woz, Present Tense, Sort Of, The clothes stay on, Tokusatsu - Freeform, Woz is a botomless pie pit, Woz is a thot for Oma Zi-O, but there are no actual concequences, feederism, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquabluejay/pseuds/aquabluejay
Summary: Oma is bored and wants to test Woz's limits. Unfortunately, there are factors he hasn't accounted for and his evening doesn't go as he’d imagined.
Relationships: Oma Zi-O/Woz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Pieathon





	Pie Treason and Other Diversions

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Pieathon](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Pieathon) collection. 



> Tldr: Oma wants to stuff Woz full of pie til he's too full to move and then fuck him but Woz isn't human and effectively a bottomless pit for pie.

Being King was surprisingly boring. There really wasn't that much to do since he had cemented his reign. Much was delegated to various proxies, local officials who had seen the inevitable and sworn themselves to the new king to preserve their own positions and their municipalities.

The old world had been governed by elaborate and corrupt bureaucratic systems before the Day of Oma, as it was recorded into history. That had largely been abolished or destroyed, crushed under Oma Zi-O’s gilded fist. In fact, so much had been reduced to rubble in the great upheaval of his rise to power, that really… there was a great deal less to manage overall and the complex bureaucracies were no longer required. Yes, things had become much simpler indeed after the Day of Oma.

Even smiting the sporadic and increasingly pathetic efforts of resistance fighters only took a few moments at a time. Their attempts to bring him down hardly amounted to an inconvenience, a few minutes deviation in his day’s schedule, if there even was much of one that day. 

Luckily, Oma Zi-O is not without resources or ingenuity to fill those otherwise lonely hours -- and not so lonely when he can summon his most loyal retainer instantly, with no more than a word.

"Woz," he calls to the empty air.

Oma Zi-O turns his head slightly to the left as Woz takes a single step from somewhere (or rather nowhere) behind the throne and into his king’s field of view, ever present book held loosely at his side. The light tread of his boot heels on the floor hanging in the air where there had been only silence in the empty hall before.

All these years by his side and Woz still made a point of coming and going just out of sight. Truely, it hasn't drawn a reaction from the king since he was a boy, but the prophet persists and Oma Zi-O graciously allows him his own small diversions as he always has. The King’s fond smile is invisible behind the helmet of his ever present armor.

Outwardly he is hard, cold as if he were a fixture decorating the room rather than a living man. He makes a more ominous statue than even the hewn stone likeness of his much younger self performing his first transformation that stands beyond the royal compound. He wears the armor nearly all his waking hours these days, only removing it in his private chambers. It is his royal raiment, a display of his power, and a precaution.

Although Oma Zi-O’s power is utterly unmatched, attack may come at any time, from any angle. Even the palace is not truly secure. The king’s power is more than the watches, with him whether he’s wearing the Ziku Driver or not. But without the armor he is more vulnerable. A well placed knife could gravely injure, or even end, his reign in a single lax moment.

The only soul Oma Zi-O allows to see him unarmored, since his rise to power, is Woz. His most faithful and fanatic vassal.The one who stepped through time to assure he would ascend to the throne and never wavered.

However, this special trust he places in Woz is not based on Woz’s actions, past or present, to ensure his rise. Nor is it a simple matter of faith. It is that Woz is his. Woz belongs to him and no other.. Because what Woz has shown time and again -- is that he does not only serve Oma Zi-O, more than anything -- he revels in it. No threat to Oma Zi-O can come from Woz when he’s held so completely, and so _willingly_ in the palm of Oma Zi-O’s hand.

Oma Zi-O crooks a finger, prompting Woz to step closer. When Woz is within his reach, Oma Zi-O reaches up for him. Woz bends down obediently, placing his chin into the king’s grasp. Armored fingers close, cold around Woz's jaw. But, he does not so much as flinch at the minor but familiar discomfort of contact with the unyielding armor. Instead he waits placidly in his king's grip as the garuntlet’s surface warms gradually against his skin. Oma Zi-O turns Woz’s face from one side to another, as though inspecting him -- though he knows Woz's un-changing face better than his own ever aging one -- for the simple pleasure of feeling his prophet move, unresisting, in his grasp.

After a few moments, when the king has satisfied this whim, he releases Woz and makes his next pronouncement.

"Woz, I think it's time for … a snack...”

The king stands from his throne and heads through the side doors, following a labyrinth of side hallways to arrive at his private dining room. It's one of the less elaborate chambers of the palace, but still boasting a table that could seat two dozen and richly decorated, including a huge, gilt fireplace dominating one wall.

Woz follows, dutifully, emerging into the room a step behind his king's shoulder. Taking in the barren table, Woz raises an eyebrow.

"Shall I summon the chef? What do you desire My Demon King?" Woz inquires but is stayed by a raised hand.

“I’ve had something prepared in fact," Oma Zi-O informs him.

With a clap of the King's hands, another set of doors open and the kitchen staff hurriedly wheel in a cloth draped cart. A dismissive wave of his hand sends the away again, heads bowed. Oma produces a heavy brass key the way Riders tend to produce things when they have no visible pockets -- which is to say as though from nowhere -- and locks the doors.

"Woz, you always loved Uncle's pies,” Oma Zi-O says with a smile that is audible through the helmet, and then draws the cover off the cart. Beneath are shelves laden with freshly baked pies. There’s a full baker's dozen of varying types and flavors, accompanied by an array of gleaming serving implements.

There is a beat before Woz can find his tongue to answer.

“...yes… of course, My Demon King.”

Oma Zi-O backs Woz against the table, then grabs him by the hips and lifts him onto the surface. Selecting one of the pies, he places it on the table beside Woz.

"It's apple, just like Uncle used to make," he says, and cuts a slice.

He lifts it to Woz’s mouth, using his other hand to catch any crumbs that might fall from it. He lifts it to Woz's lips and. Woz opens his mouth and takes one bite, then another and another.

Oma Cuts a second slice, then a third. Woz's eyes go dark, following each slice in his King's hand with rapt attention. Going slightly cross eyed as the pie reaches his lips.

It is rare for Oma Zi-O to spoil him, and rarer without a give and take. Briefly he wonders what his liege is truly up to, but dismisses the thoughts in favor of enjoying the experience of each indulgent bite he’s offered. Oma Zi-O’s true intentions hardly matter in the end, for Woz is his Demon King’s to do with as he pleases.

As the last slice disappears, Woz savors it, assuming it is likely the end of the pastry indulgence he will be allowed. His eyes slide closed in bliss at the lingering taste of buttery crust, only to fly open at the feeling of a hand closing around his neck.

Oma Zi-O’s helmet’s faceplate prevents them from making true eye contact but Woz holds his gaze anyway, knowing that his king is watching back from just behind the gold and gem encrusted mask. Using his hold on Woz's neck, the king presses his retainer back and down against the table so that Woz is laying across the surface with his legs half off. The king’s grip is firm but gentle enough. A pressure that demands attention and compliance. He does not need to squeeze. Woz will not struggle. He submits all too willingly.

The first pie tin sits empty but for a few crumbs and he sets it aside and selects another from the cart. This time it is a cherry cobbler, a far looser confection than the first and bloody red under the pastry top. Oma Zi-O breaks the surface with a large spoon, loading it up. It is far more than a polite mouthful’s worth of cobbler. A glob of cherry filling spills over the side and lands on Woz’s cheek before the spoon reaches his open mouth. Oma Zi-O swipes his thumb through it and into Woz’s mouth the moment he finishes swallowing. Woz licks it clean. Oma Zi-O pulls his hand back slowly, letting his thumb hook the prophet’s bottom lip and draw it down in a pout and holds for a moment, as though committing the sight to memory.

Without looking away, he reaches over and dips his hand into the cobbler before bringing it back to Woz’s lips. He slips them one at a time into Woz’s mouth, letting the prophet suck the sticky cherry filling from each one in turn. First his pinky, then his ring finger. His index and middle fingers he slips in together, sliding them in and out as Woz sucks, deliberately and lewdly. If Woz had any doubts about the direction the afternoon is heading, the suggestive gesture has made the King’s ultimate intentions clear.

Or so Woz thinks. Because there is more to the Demon King’s plans. 

It is not simply a whim to spoil Woz that led him to order so many pastries from the royal chefs. The palace kitchens are well stocked, but such a large and varied request required time. The king made the request in advance so that all would be prepared according to his plans.

Tonight he will not simply be satisfied with taking pleasure from Woz’s body, as he often does. He has a darker desire tonight, to push Woz’s limits in a new way, for his own enjoyment.

It's a test of sorts. He doesn't doubt Woz’s willingness to do whatever his king asks of him. Instead Oma Zi-O wishes to test his...capacity shall we say. Not how much will he take, but how much _can_ he take. 

When Woz is bursting at the seams, when he cannot take another fingerful, when he strains to even breathe without discomfort -- Then and only then, Oma Zi-O intends to roughly satisfy his own appetites in Woz's flesh.

Such a pursuit requires patience on Oma Zi-O’s part and so he reaches for the next pie and continues to hand feed Woz. Bite by bite.

As he goes, he encourages Woz. What a fine appetite he has. How through he is in cleaning his king’s fingers when they’re offered. Woz pants a bit between bites, feeling hot beneath the collar. The front of Woz’s pants tents with a growing erection. It’s nearly invisible beneath his coat, but Oma Zi-O knows Woz, and knows full well how thoroughly affected his retainer is by words of praise from him.

Another pie plate is emptied and as Oma Zi-O trades it for another from the second shelf, he asks lightly, “Are you feeling full Woz?”

“No, My Demon King,” Woz answers immediately.

“Good,” replies the King. “There’s plenty left.”

Pumpkin, lemon meringue, and strawberry rhubarb. One by one, the pies disappear down Woz’s gullet.

Doubt flickers in Oma Zi-O’s mind as he notices the growing number of empty pie tins. Juice dribbles down Woz’s chin as he swallows down mouthful after mouthful with no sign of slowing.

A heavy pecan pie is demolished, followed by a delicate pear and frangipane tart. Oma Zi-O hesitates.

Taking advantage of his king’s stilled hands, Woz’s tongue darts out to lap at crumbs stuck to his fingers. Oma Zi-O balks. How many pies, and still Woz eagerly seeks out more. It begins to dawn on the King that he may have miscalculated. Badly.

“There’s another shelf full still,” Oma Zi-O says, lifting the first pie from the bottom shelf and holding it where Woz can see it. But where he'd expected Woz's eyes to go wide with alarm, they merely focus on the cart and darken with hunger.

Confused, and with growing irritation, Oma Zi-O resumes his task, shovelling spoonful after spoonful of blackberry pie into Woz's face. Woz begins to look somewhat confused at his king’s increasing displeasure, but continues to gulp down pie as quickly as he can chew and swallow.

"How… How are you doing that?" Oma Zi-O demands, tossing the empty dish aside.

"Mmnngh??" Woz, confused, attempts to ask for clarification. But his cheeks are packed so full of pie all he manages is a vague interrogative sound through his nose.

"WHERE DOES IT ALL GO!?!"

Oma Zi-O grabs Woz by his scarf and the front of his jacket, pulling him closer and shaking his slightly with his words, as if that will dislodge the answer. Woz manages a large, hurried swallow to clear enough space in his mouth to reply more coherently.

Through a mouth still half full of pie, Woz manages,"Whaz tha Mah n’emon K’ng?"

Looking back at the cart, Oma Zi-O discovers there is only one pie left. Impossible, he thinks. There’s simply no way anyone could have consumed so much. Ordering so many from the kitchen had been mostly for drama’s sake. He had never expected to need most of them.

It begins to dawn on the king then, that there may have been a flaw in his plans from the beginning. The exact nature of what Woz is, has never been entirely clear to Oma Zi-O. But he cannot be mortal or entirely human. Woz has many human characteristics, but he does seem to lack certain limitations as well… perhaps more than the King had considered.

With a roar of frustration, Oma Zi-O grabs the final pie and flings it across the room. Together, they watch it hit the far wall. The pie shell separates from the tin pan on impact with the wall, breaking apart as it then hits the ground, revealing it’s chocolatey filling. Muttering furiously under his breath about prophets bearing watches and ruined plans, the Demon King of Time storms from the room.

Woz is left to clean himself up, straightening his coat and frowning at the waste of a good pie.

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring: A special guest appearance by the cherry cobbler from Sapphire's fic, but without its most notable features since they were the pie actually being a tentacle monster.


End file.
